And Meryl, walking a little stumblingly over the rough pathway, was glad of the big shady hat that hid her eyes and gave her time to pull herself together. Of course, that other woman he had loved sixteen years ago had been one of his own people—one of those whom the great Fourtenay family of Devon regarded as an equal. Whereas she was just Meryl Pym, and though many needy peers chose rich wives from across the sea, anyone might know Peter Carew was not of these, and would sooner shun such riches than seek them.
So they walked back, mostly in silence, only no longer the silence of quiet, contented understanding, but rather a silence which she showed no inclination to break, and he felt baffled, and worried, and anxious. And at dinner, though Meryl made one of her spasmodic efforts and contrived to be gay, he remained somewhat preoccupied and taciturn. And Ailsa looked from one to the other secretly, and wondered what had been said before they reached the Mission Station; and felt again that womanlike desire to shake the man for the very resoluteness she most admired in him.
When she said good night to Meryl she could not refrain, from just one little delve into the perplexing situation. "If you and Major Carew met at six o'clock and did not get back until seven, you must have had quite a long chat together. Such a new thing for him! I don't think even I, his trusted friend, can boast of such an incident."
"We just stayed to watch the sunset," and Meryl turned away on some slight pretext. "He certainly was a little more communicative than usual. Did you know he was once engaged to someone who died?"
"No," in slow surprise, "I had never heard of it. But then, he never speaks of himself, and I did not know his branch of the family at all. We lived near London about that time, and seldom went into Devonshire. Still, I wonder Billy did not know. Probably he heard it, and took no notice. That would be so like Billy. He was perhaps scheming some new move for his boys, as he used to call his parishioners."
"Perhaps he would rather I had not mentioned it," Meryl said.
"It will be safe with me, dear. I shall only speak of it to Billy. How terrible it must have been! It is Impossible not to feel it has shadowed all his life. And for her!—he must have been a very striking, attractive man in those days. One hears rumours without attaching much interest to them at the time, but looking back now, I remember my father alluding once or twice to the two brothers as if they were very well-known men. But that would be when I was but a schoolgirl, and soon afterwards I went abroad for a year with an aunt." She lingered a moment longer. "I am glad he told you. It was nice of him. And he tells so little. It was a great compliment. Good night, dearie. Sleep well."
Meryl sat on the little bed, in the round wattle and daub hut, and pressed her fingers against her eyes to still their throbbing. Then she looked round at her surroundings, and a little wry smile twisted her lips. A rough floor of ant-heap composition and cow-dung hardened to cement, with some native reed matting laid down; a small stretcher bed; a packing-case for a washhand-stand, and enamel ware. Another packing-case for a dressing-table, and a little cheap glass nailed to the wall. Walls of baked mud, which had fallen in places, laying bare the wattle stems, and a door made from packing-cases which fitted badly, and was fastened only by a string and a nail. For ceiling long, thin wattle stems converging upwards, and outside a thatch of dried grass. And against this in her mind she placed the Johannesburg bedroom, with its costly appointments, its beautiful windows opening to a wide, flower-decked verandah, which commanded a lovely view of distant hills; its lavish display of wealth and luxury. And she smiled that little wry smile, because for the sake of just one man, a mere soldier-policeman, this room might have been a paradise, and the other a grave. In truth she had learnt much from her sojourn in the wilderness—much beyond the life and aspect of a far country.
Then she crept to bed feeling tired and disheartened, but finding a little comfort in the thought that she would see him in the morning.
But at sunrise Carew aroused Grenville and said good-bye, and rode away before breakfast.